Finding Strength
by Trilliah
Summary: Frodo draws strength from a friend as he tries to figure out how to tell Sam he'll be leaving Middle Earth forever....set after ROTK. *Complete* (Finally!)
1. Discussion

Author: Trilliah  
  
Genre: Angst/Drama  
  
Rating: G  
  
Characters: Frodo Rosie  
  
Summary: Frodo draws strength from a friend as he tries to figure out how to tell Sam he'll be leaving Middle earth. Not a slash fic.  
  
Feedback: Don't make me beg. Okay, fine, I'm begging. Please, please, please R/R or email me?? I love email! (Trilliah@hotmail.com, if you don't want to mess with links) ;)  
  
Disclaimer: AHH! Don't hurt me!! I don't own them, honest, and I'm not making any money…just finding ways to fill my otherwise empty life with a little bit of harmless worship…*sweet smile*  
  
  
  
A/n: this is not a Frodo/Rosie fic—I always wanted more to be said about the relationship between Frodo and Rosie. I, in my girlish notions of the beauty of friendship, think they would have become very close, with Rosie sort of mothering Frodo. What do you think?  
  
  
  
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Frodo Baggins sat in his study, staring at the blank sheet of parchment before him despondently. He'd been sitting like that since luncheon, quill poised over the paper as he desperately tried to think of something he could write, something he could say to try and explain…  
  
Nothing came to him, and still he sat, unable to move until he finished this. Unable to seek rest until he found closure.  
  
He was leaving. Soon. He'd be meeting Bilbo and Gandalf and Elrond, traveling to the havens and leaving middle earth forever.  
  
And somehow, he was going to have to tell Sam…  
  
At least Rosie already knew. Frodo smiled. Dear lass, she'd seen it in his eyes despite his attempts to hide it. She'd kept quiet, but one night six months ago she'd sought him out, after Sam had gone to bed, knowing Frodo wouldn't be asleep. Frodo thought back, his eyes clouding briefly as the scene played in his mind.  
  
"Mr. Frodo?" she had whispered, knocking softly on his study door, which was standing ajar.  
  
He'd turned around and smiled warmly at her. "Rose," he said kindly. "What can I do for you?"  
  
She had bitten her lip, looking a bit hesitant, and Frodo stood up, immediately concerned. "Is something wrong?" he asked, moving towards her. "Is the baby…?"  
  
She smiled and placed a hand over her large baby. "No, Mr. Frodo, he's fine, and he's not coming just yet," she said, lowering her eyes and blushing slightly at her master's concern. Frodo smiled, relieved, and helped Rose to one of the seats in front of the large fireplace. A fire was burning merrily, wood crackling and filling the room with the sweet scent of pine. Sam had built it up before he'd gone to bed, and in tribute to his skill it was still going strong nearly three hours later.  
  
Frodo sat back in his chair and gently regarded Rose, a question in his eyes. She had glanced at her feet, then the wall, then her feet again, before finally summoning the courage to meet his gaze.  
  
Frodo had been startled to see there were tears in her large brown eyes.  
  
"Rose?" he cried, almost getting to his feet again, but she held up a hand to stop him. Settling back halfway but unable to relax, he gazed at her concernedly. "What's wrong?"  
  
Rose had drawn a shaky breath, then said ever so softly, "When are you going to do it?"  
  
Frodo had been a bit taken aback. "I'm sorry?"  
  
Rose looked away, staring into the fire. "When are you going to leave us?"  
  
Frodo cocked his head at her. She seemed to notice and glanced back at him. "You are leaving, aren't you, Mr. Frodo." It wasn't a question.  
  
Frodo sighed, knowing he couldn't pretend otherwise, and nodded slowly, never breaking the gaze.  
  
Rose sighed again, looking towards the flame again. It flickered and shone on her pensive face, and Frodo suddenly saw the glint of a tear making it's way down her cheek.  
  
"Oh, Rosie!" he cried softly, rising from his chair and moving to kneel before her. He pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently as she sobbed quietly into his shirt. Normally she would consider it impertinent to show so much emotion in front of her master, though he would not censure her for it; however, in the dark of the night it somehow seemed different. She could finally see him for what he always wanted to be to her and her family: a friend. A wonderful, giving, caring friend, with a laugh that rang like silver bells and a smile that seemed to brighten the darkest of days.  
  
A friend soon to be lost to them…  
  
"Why, sir?" she asked when she finally gained enough control over her emotions to speak.  
  
Frodo sighed, the soft sound filled with so much emotion it made Rosie's heart clench in her chest. He released her and stood, walking over to the window and leaning against it, gazing out into the night.  
  
"I can't stay," he whispered, and she could see his eyes fill with tears. "I'm wounded, Rose; from the quest, from the pains I've endured, and…I'll die if I stay here."  
  
Rose drew a shaky breath. "Is it us, sir? Is there something we could have done to prevent this?"  
  
Frodo turned from the window quickly, the denial in his face even before he spoke. "Oh, Rosie, of course not," he said. "You and Sam are the reason I've lasted this long. I'd have been gone long ago, if not for your love and support." He smiled at her through his tears, and Rosie knew the smile was genuine. And despite the doubts coursing through her, she believed him.  
  
Still, she was troubled.  
  
"Where will you be going, Mr. Frodo?" she asked. "Who will take care of you?"  
  
Frodo smiled again at her concern. "I'll be traveling to the Gray Havens," he said softly, gazing back out the window. "And traveling across the sea, to live with the elves in the land of Valinor."  
  
Rosie didn't know exactly what he meant, but she did know that if he was with the elves, they would take care of him as well as she could hope to. Sam had spoken of them so often, his face always aglow with wonder, so she knew it would be all right.  
  
Suddenly, Rosie frowned. "Sir…when are you going to tell Sam?"  
  
Frodo turned from the window and paced to his bookshelf, fingering the dusty book covers. After a moment, Rosie saw a tear fall onto his hand, and she stood and walked over to him, sliding an arm around his waist comfortingly.  
  
"I don't know, Rose," he whispered finally. "I'll have to tell him, but…I don't know how. If I tell him now, there will be…I'll never have the heart to leave."  
  
He looked so lost and helpless suddenly that, even though he was over fifteen years her senior, Rose wanted only to comfort him as a mother would her child. She led him back to his chair and made him sit down, then stood with a hand on his shoulder for a moment.  
  
He rested his elbows on the table before him, burying his face in his hands, his fingers tangling in his curls. She could feel his shoulders shaking slightly with sobs, and she rubbed her hand in slow, comforting circles over his back.  
  
"There, now, sir," she whispered around the lump in her own throat. "'Twill be all right. You don't need to go a-weeping, sir."  
  
"Oh, Rosie," he whispered, suddenly sounding small and afraid. "I don't want to go. I don't want to leave him. I don't want to leave the Shire, and you, and the little one you'll be having…"  
  
Rosie leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "But you have to."  
  
Frodo nodded. Rosie held him for a moment then stood and stroked his hair thoughtfully for a moment.  
  
Frodo bowed his head under her gentle hand, reveling in the comfort and care he'd not felt from a hobbit-lass since his mother had died so many years ago.  
  
Finally, she spoke again. "Don't tell him," she said firmly. "Write him a letter, I'll give it to him after you've gone. And take him with you when you go. He'll figure it out when you reach the havens, but by then it will be too late for him—or you—to change your mind."  
  
Frodo looked up, shocked. "Is that fair to him…?"  
  
"Would it be fair to him, or to you, to tell him now and make the last months you spend together seem tainted?" she replied. "Would it be fair to put you both through so much agony?"  
  
Frodo sighed and looked down again, knowing she was right. Still, it would be hard to go on as if nothing was going to change…to let Sam think they would be together forever, master and servant, friends until the end…  
  
Rosie leaned down and kissed Frodo gently on the top of his head. "You think on it," she said softly. "Write that letter, give it to me before you go. I'll see it gets to him safely."  
  
Frodo had nodded once as she squeezed his shoulder then turned to go back to bed. He sat up late into the night, thinking on all she'd said, and had resolved to write the letter when he knew how to say what it was he needed to say. And now, six months later, he was still at a loss. He knew he had to write it soon; he was leaving within a month or so. But where could he start? How could he begin to tell Sam what his love, support and friendship had meant to him? How could he tell the person who'd pulled him from shadow and back into life and love and joy all that he wanted to say? How could he give Sam comfort in the long years he would live in the Shire, apart from his master and friend of so many years? Could so much feeling be reduced to ink on a page, to mere words on paper?  
  
*And how could he bear to say goodbye? *  
  
Frodo sighed, bowing his head as the hot tears welled up in his eyes. One of them dropped onto the page before him, leaving a small circular stain on the parchment.  
  
*How ironic, * Frodo thought, *that even my goodbye to him is stained with tears…*  
  
They were always in such pain, it seemed. Nothing had been painless since that fateful day so long ago when Gandalf had reappeared in the shire, telling Frodo of the Ring and It's dangers, warning that he must flee, soon, bearing the Evil with him…flee, for the sake of all those he held dear…  
  
Frodo clenched his fists in his hair as more tears streamed down his cheeks. How he *wished* the ring had never come to him. He knew wishes were all in vain, but it didn't stop his heart and soul from crying for them so hard he thought he might be split in two. Sam held him together, and Rosie, and now little Elanor-lass, but even they were being ripped from him.  
  
Frodo buried his face in his arms and sobbed, feeling his heart shatter.  
  
"Mr. Frodo?"  
  
A soft voice from behind him made him look up quickly.  
  
"Rose," he whispered, seeing her form in the doorway.  
  
She moved forward slowly and placed a hand on his shoulder, a mirror image of that night six months ago when she'd told him to do what he'd been trying to do all afternoon.  
  
"What is it, Sir?" she asked quietly.  
  
He glanced down at the blank parchment before him, now spattered with his teardrops. He didn't have to say any more; she seemed to understand. Keeping one hand on his shoulder, she picked up the paper and set it gently aside, then smoothed out a new piece before him. Leaning down, she whispered, "It will be wet enough with his tears, Frodo; don't add your tears to his pain. There will be a time to weep together, but this"—she indicated the fresh blank sheet before them—"this will be his strength, for many years. If it's all you can leave him, then leave it to him untainted."  
  
Her words struck Frodo's soul like spears, but her voice was gentle and kind, and he knew she was right. Taking a deep breath, he sat up and met her gaze. She was smiling, a small, sad smile that held wisdom beyond her years. Nodding once, he picked up the quill again. She squeezed his shoulder once then turned and left the room.  
  
Frodo turned back towards the paper before him and, with a small smile, dipped his quill in the ink well and began to write.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
If anyone's interested, let me know, and I'll continue this…then again, I may continue it anyway. ( I think the next chapter should be Sam's POV after Frodo leaves, don't you? Reading the letter and reflecting…hmmm… 


	2. Promises Kept

Sunset in the shire was always so beautiful.  
  
Gazing out the window, Rose Gamgee couldn't stop the small smile that curved onto her lips, despite all that weighted so heavily on her soul.  
  
Sam would be returning soon.  
  
And how was she to give him the comfort he would need?  
  
With a small sigh, Rose turned from the window and moved back into the kitchen, pausing by the stove to stir the simmering stew before going to gather the dishes to set the table with. As she worked, she let her mind travel, settling as it was wont to these past few days on her former master and dear friend, Frodo Baggins.  
  
Her heart thumped painfully as she gazed over to the doorway that lead to the parlor, knowing that resting on the mantelpiece just out of sight was the letter Frodo had written for her to give to Sam. She hadn't read it; she knew Sam would show her if he wanted, but she greatly suspected it was something he would want to hold dear as his own: his last link to the master and friend he'd known and loved his entire life. It wasn't something she would dream of trying to take from him, and she felt that, by reading the letter herself, she would be doing just that. So it sat, still sealed with Frodo's seal as it had been since she'd taken it from him.  
  
She remembered that night with a sad smile.  
  
Frodo had been sitting in his study for nearly the entire day when she'd found him weeping over a blank sheet of parchment. The sight had torn her heart it two, and she'd gone to him, comforting him and whispering words of strength she didn't even know she'd had in her. Telling him to leave the pages for Sam's tears, she'd given him a new sheet and an encouraging smile before retreating to the garden and breaking down, sobbing softly among the star-lit flowers. The pain of her master's burden settled heavily upon her, joining with her own and leaving her gasping. She'd been worried that Sam or Frodo would hear her, but she was careful not to let the wails building within her escape as more than soft, gasping moans. When she'd finally gotten control of her emotions, she'd wiped her face on her sleeve and retired to bed, sighing as Sam had sleepily wrapped his arms around her and kissed her gently on the forehead before drifting back off. He'd never known she'd been crying, and she was grateful; she wasn't sure how she'd be able to explain, and she knew he wouldn't be satisfied until she told him.  
  
But the secret remained safe. After about an hour she'd heard Frodo retire to his own bedroom, and then the house had stilled, settling into silence as the night deepened.  
  
Still, it was a long time before she'd slept.  
  
The next morning Frodo had given her a secret smile at breakfast, and she returned it, knowing he'd accomplished his difficult task the night before. Later that day, when Sam had left to take the last of the summer's vegetables to market, Frodo had called her into his study.  
  
"Here it is," he'd said simply, handing her a sheet of parchment filled with his small, graceful writing. She'd smiled, but hadn't read it, as Frodo had obviously intended; instead, she folded it neatly and handed Frodo his seal and wax.  
  
Frodo gazed at her, confused. "Rose…?"  
  
"It's for Sam," she had replied gently. "He's going to need it, Mr. Frodo. 'Twouldn't be right for me to take that from him, if you understand me."  
  
Frodo had gazed at her for a moment before nodding once. "I do," he said, giving her a small smile. She'd nodded respectfully and left the study.  
  
It wasn't until the night before they'd left that Frodo approached her about it again.  
  
"I wanted to give this to you," he said softly, glancing carefully down the hallway where Sam was packing for their trip, unaware that they weren't going to Rivendell as Frodo let on.  
  
Rose looked down. In her hand he'd placed another sheet of parchment, this one already folded and sealed, but written on the front had been her own name.  
  
"Mr. Frodo…"  
  
He shook his head once and gave her a smile. "He's not the only one who'll need strength," he whispered. "You've been so wonderful to me, Rose, and I know there's no way I could ever hope to repay you, but…" he looked down for a moment before meeting her gaze again. "I just wanted to say thank you."  
  
She smiled, and they embraced briefly before Rose pulled away to go and help Sam prepare.  
  
It had broken her heart to see him whistling so happily as he gathered some things of his and Frodo's. He'd smiled as she entered, talking cheerfully to her as she helped him pack, while her thoughts kept traveling to the letter she'd tucked away into her apron pocket.  
  
What would Mr. Frodo have to say to her?  
  
But she'd stayed her curiosity, resisting the temptation to run out into the garden and tear the letter open. She would need it more, she knew, during those long nights when Sam and Frodo were gone, one long to return, the other never to do so.  
  
So she waited.  
  
The next morning, she'd gotten up early to see them off. Frodo had held her for several long moments. "Be strong, Rosie," he'd whispered. "He'll need it. I'll never forget you, or all you've done for me." He'd then pulled away and kissed her cheek before turning to join Sam at the gate. Rosie walked with him, smiling as her husband pulled her into a brief hug and kissed her gently.  
  
"Be back before you know it," he said softly, a tender smile on his face. Then they turned and began walking, side by side, down the winding path. She'd watched them until they vanished from sight, then turned back into the hole, walking at first, then trotting, then dashing into the bedroom where she'd hidden the letters. She pulled them out and opened hers with shaking hands.  
  
*Dearest Rose,* it began, then she had to pause as she wiped away the tears blurring her vision before she could continue.  
  
*Please don't be too sad. I understand it will be difficult for a time, but you and Sam will have each other, for many long and happy years. There will be many little ones to follow Elanor, and I suspect keeping them out of trouble will keep you far too busy to miss me very much.*  
  
Rose paused here to laugh, despite the tears that were coursing down her cheeks, heedless of her failed attempts to stop them.  
  
*There's so much I need to say to you, but no way to do so. How can I ever hope to thank you enough for all you've given me? Your comfort and strength have been no less than a blessing for these past few months. I never should have been able to do what I now must, if not for you. For this, I thank you.*  
  
Rose closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a sudden warmth was over her.  
  
*Rose, I'm leaving everything to you and Sam. Everything I had, everything I might have had, is yours now. Keep them and enjoy, and please know that my thoughts and my love are always with you, though we may all be so far apart. Remember me, Rose, as I used to be, before the Shadow became too great a burden for me to bear. And I ask you to take care of Sam. You will be his strength, and he will greatly need it, and you, when he returns. Take care of him, Rose. I know you will.  
  
Remember that I love you and Sam very dearly, and that I will never forget you.  
  
All my love and thanks,  
  
Frodo Baggins.*  
  
Rosie had been surprised when, at the end of the letter, she'd suddenly felt strength filling her limbs and warmth spread through her soul. She would miss Frodo, of that there was no doubt, but she would carry on. She would not try to forget him to lessen the pain; that would not help anything, she knew. Wounds neglected would never heal, and while the healing may be painful, she knew it would be worth it in the long run. Worth it, when she and Sam could sit and talk of their friend without tears, or perhaps with only tears of joy.  
  
Well worth it, indeed…  
  
Yes, she would be Sam's strength. She would take care of him, provide him a warm home where he was safe and loved and cared for, for all the days of his life.  
  
*I promise, Mr. Frodo…*  
  
A sudden noise from outside made Rose start where she stood in the kitchen, still holding the dishes. She glanced out the window and saw Sam making his way through the gate. Even from where she stood, she could see how his head was bowed, his shoulders stooped with sorrow. Her heart went out to him, and she set the table quickly before hurrying to open the door.  
  
He looked up at her and gave her a weak smile as she pulled him inside, drawing him gently to the table and setting him down. Elanor burbled happily as Rose lifted the child and placed her in Sam's lap.  
  
*Please, Sam* she thought. *Please, see what you still have…see what you will still be able to keep, even though he's left us…*  
  
Her heart soared when he looked up and his eyes lost the glazed look they'd held. Smiling, he sighed once and said, "Well, I'm back."  
  
With a sob of relief and joy, she threw her arms around his neck, smiling as he wrapped his free arm around her waist and Elanor giggled happily between them.  
  
*Yes, Frodo,* she though, *I'll take care of him. And together, we'll be all right…* 


	3. Heart's whispers

A/n: Hey all! Sorry it took me so long to get this posted, I've been rather busy of late. I know that's no excuse, but hey, at least it's done now! Thank you all for your wonderful reviews and encouragements. Finally: the last chapter!! This story is now officially *complete!!* ( Hope you enjoy, feedback appreciated.  
  
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Samwise Gamgee had always considered himself fairly strong, as hobbits go.  
  
He could shoulder burdens with ease and grace where others staggered; a days work in the summer sun could barely make him break a sweat or draw a heavy breath from his lips. Where others collapsed for want of rest or nourishment, he carried on, heedless to his body's demands as his will demanded he continue.  
  
For this strength, Sam had always been grateful. It had made him an efficient worker, and enabled him to keep the gardens around bag end beautiful for many years. Little did he know, in those early carefree years, how important his strength would become, and how much he would need every last ounce of it.  
  
When he and Frodo had first set out on their journey, he'd made a promise to himself: he would use all the strength he possessed to see that his master never came to harm. He would stand in the way of any danger that would threaten him, and he would die before he'd let anyone hurt him. He had been terribly afraid, it was true, but his fear was a small thing indeed compared to his master's safety.  
  
It was only after their first encounter with a black rider that Sam realized all his strength might not be enough.  
  
In Rivendell, while waiting for Frodo to wake from his morgal-wound, he had berated himself again and again for allowing this to happen. He'd promised Gandalf and himself that he would take care of Frodo, and here at the first trial he'd failed. He swore to himself, then and there, he *wouldn't* let it happen again. For his master's sake, his strength could not fail.  
  
It was true, when compared to the likes of Aragorn, or Boromir, or any of the company, he was small, and his strength was rendered insignificant next to theirs. It was only later, during the longs months of their journey, that Samwise learned there were more kinds of strength than could be measured by how heavy a pack one could carry.  
  
There was the strength of friendship. The strength of loyalty.  
  
The strength of love…  
  
It was the last of these more than anything that had gotten him and Mr. Frodo through the darkness of Mordor, even when all other strength had failed. His body was wasting away, but as he was forced, day after day, to see the pain his master bore for the tiny trifle around his neck…his resolve grew, and his determination forged into a thing of steel. Stronger than any other bond, his love for his master and friend had carried them both to the end of their quest. And as they stood trembling in one another's arms, the world crashing down around them, Sam had known it was a bond too strong to be broken, even in death. He was not afraid, even as they toppled down to the quaking earth, their last reserves finally spent. He would die, but it was as he had expected, after all…and Middle Earth would be safe.  
  
But he did not die, nor did Frodo. At least, not physically. Beyond all miracles, they'd been pulled from the flames that were raining down around them, and taken far from the shadows, back into light. When Sam had awoken in Ithillien, finding Frodo at his side, missing a finger but otherwise unharmed, he felt he would surely burst, as there could not possibly be room within him for the joy he felt.  
  
They had been nursed back to health by the careful hands of Aragorn and the healers of Gondor, and strength had slowly but surely returned. Even their long trek back to the Shire had a rejuvenating effect, for they were able to take it slowly and enjoy the journey. Sam had been filled with nothing but light and love and joy, and it seemed to him that nothing could make him feel anything less.  
  
But he was wrong. Upon returning to the shire, they had found it ransacked. There was work to be done, and his strength was needed again.  
  
They had set it to rights, though, and with time he knew it would return to it's former beauty. He had no doubts, for if there was one thing he knew himself quite capable of, it was hard work. He would fix the Shire; with patience and time and love, he would bring it back to it's former glory.  
  
But the contentment he had been settling into was all falsely backlit; even with his dear Rose, and the little Elanor-lass, much of his joy rested on the presence and recovery of his beloved master. For a time, he'd even begun to believe they could be happy again, and go back to the way things had been before.  
  
How wrong he'd been.  
  
Standing now silently in his garden, Sam gazed out at the Shire that looked so desolate and bleak in the long days between the fall of the leaves and the coming of the first snows. Everything was shrouded in a blanket of gray that could not be penetrated. Sam usually found joy in these long winter days, for they served to remind him of how beautiful everything would be, come spring…they let him appreciate the blooming gardens by reminding him that things were fleeting, and must be enjoyed to the fullest when they were around.  
  
Sam bowed his head against the hot familiar sting of tears in his eyes. Oh, if only he'd known how true that lesson would prove…  
  
The joy that had filled his life for the year or so after their return had been abruptly halted with the departure of his master. Sam recalled quite clearly standing on the shores of the great sea, watching the disappearing ship that carried his world far away from him. The last thing he'd been able to see in the darkness of the night was the light of the star-glass held high in his master's hand. And as that had finally twinkled and vanished, Sam felt almost as though it had been his very soul, being wrenched from him like he would tear a weed from the flower garden: down to the very roots, where it couldn't grow back.  
  
The pain had been incredible during that first night. Even with Merry and Pippin for comfort, he had been withdrawn, waiting until they had fallen asleep to crawl a little ways from their shelter and curl up, lost in his sorrow. He'd cried himself to sleep listening to the distant sound of waves crashing upon the shore, and in his mind he'd seen only Frodo.  
  
And somehow, the images of his master's beloved face had only brought more pain…  
  
*I shall never see him again.*  
  
The thought had resounded through his mind, caught in an endless loop that repeated until he was certain he would go mad. The sorrow weighed heavily upon him, an actual tangible weight that made him stoop and bow his head. He felt he knew, for the first time, what the burden must have felt like on Frodo for all those long months he carried it…  
  
When Bagshot Row came into view, the burden felt heavier than ever. He could see the lights of Bag End, far up on top of the hill, all lit and burning cheerily. He'd stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine, just for a second, that all was well, that Mr. Frodo and even old Bilbo were in Bag End now, reading together or writing some of those tales he was so fond of hearing. He would go to his own home, and in the morning travel up the hill to work in the gardens—  
  
Sam shook his head and shoved the fantasy from his mind. It was no good thinking like that; it weren't true, and wishing it wouldn't make it reality.  
  
He'd walked up the path slowly, afraid of stepping across the threshold of the smial that now seemed so alien to him, without Mr. Frodo…  
  
But he'd stepped in anyway, and had been immediately greeted by his wife. Before he even knew what was going on, she'd seemed to know his thoughts, and had pushed him down into his chair at the kitchen table and gently placed their daughter in his lap. And with that, the haze that had seemed to cover his vision and plagued his soul vanished. He'd gazed up and seen the look of anguish and sorrow in his wife's eyes, along with the desperate plea that he *see* her, see what was left to him…  
  
At that, a deep stab of guilt had wedged itself into his heart. How could he have wished things to be different? He had a home, a kind, loving wife, a beautiful daughter…a bit of garden to call his own. What more could he possibly wish for?  
  
He'd smiled reassuringly at his wife, and said softly, "Well, I'm back."  
  
The sob of joy, the feel of arms around his neck, the warm wet of tears against his cheek…they were all he could have hoped for. They were here, and real. He must appreciate them, and enjoy the life Frodo had wanted him to have. And as Rose had finally pulled away, wiping her eyes, he'd taken her hand and squeezed it gently, smiling into her eyes.  
  
"We're going to be okay, you and I," he said softly, and laughing through her tears she agreed. He pulled her down to him and kissed her soundly, then smiled even more broadly.  
  
"And now what is it I smell? For I'm certainly famished, and whatever it is smells heavenly…"  
  
And so he'd pushed aside his own grief, at least for the moment. But still Frodo's face haunted him, and throughout the evening he kept turning at each sound, half expecting to see his master wander in from another room and apologize for being late to dinner. Of course it never happened, but that didn't stop Sam's imagination; it carried on, despite his efforts to tame it, and called forth images that stung like salt in an open wound. He felt his very soul was rent, and there was no way to heal it; nothing he could do…  
  
Later that evening, however, something happened to change that.  
  
Rosie had drawn him into the parlor after they had settled little Elanor in for the night. It had been hard, at first, to enter the room. The big chair by the fireplace seemed to be almost waiting for it's master to return, and the sight of Frodo's scarf, hanging so carelessly over it's back, had made Sam's knees go momentarily weak. Rosie didn't seem to notice, walking over to the mantle and picking up a sealed piece of parchment. Sam's throat had clenched, seeing Frodo's seal, and his own name written in his master's graceful script across the front. Rosie had handed it to him gently, almost reverently, and he'd taken it with trembling hands. Rosie covered his hands with hers, and leaned forward to whisper into his ear, "He left this for you, dear Sam. He knew how much you would need it."  
  
He gazed into her eyes, which seemed for a moment distant as a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. After a moment, she noticed his gaze, and nodded once at the still-sealed paper. "Read it. It will help."  
  
He didn't ask her how she knew, but merely obeyed mutely, breaking the seal almost reluctantly as she left the room to check on Elanor, who had begun to fuss.  
  
He'd read the letter once, then read it again. Tears streamed from his face endlessly, but even as they did he found himself smiling. Rosie had been right; his master's words *had* been comforting, even now. He tucked the letter away carefully, and took a deep breath.  
  
"Very well, Frodo," he'd whispered. "I will try…"  
  
With that, he'd gone to help Rosie with Elanor.  
  
A sudden burst of laughter from down the road brought Sam roughly back to reality. Turning, he gazed down the lane, his tear-streaked face breaking into a small smile at the sight.  
  
Two small hobbit-lads, both carefully bundled in their winter cloaks and scarves, were chasing each other through the street and laughing gleefully. The taller one had darkened hair and a pale complexion made rosy by the chill winter air. The other, a bit shorter and rounder, and quite obviously younger, was chasing closely behind him, his peals of laughter resounding in the cold morning air. Sam watched, the smile growing slightly as the older one finally stopped and spun around to catch the younger one in his arms. They spun around for a moment, then fell to the ground, laughing even harder. Sam chuckled as he watched the game, hearing the younger child crying gleefully, "I got you!! I got you!!"  
  
The older one threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, you got me!" he said, standing and pulling the younger hobbit to his feet. "Now *I'm* going to get *you*…!"  
  
Sam laughed out loud as the younger hobbit's eyes widened and he spun around, running as fast as his short legs would carry him, his squeals trailing behind him as his companion chased him. They were soon out of sight again, and Sam realized he was still grinning after them, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He shook himself slightly and turned back towards the garden, memories flooding him.  
  
*He and Frodo… running in the summer months when they were both so young, chasing fireflies at night or playing tag or just lying in the cool green grass, gazing up at the sky. Frodo would point out shapes in the clouds during the day, and tell stories about the various stars at night. Or when it was rainy, staying inside to listen to Mr. Bilbo tell tales about the Elves and the dwarves and even sometimes the one about the dragon. That one had always scared Sam, and more often than not he'd end up curled up in Frodo's lap, staring at Bilbo with wide eyes but not really afraid as long as Frodo held onto him, whispering reassurances into his ear that Smaug was dead now, and he had nothing to fear…*  
  
Sam bowed his head against the fresh stream of tears that spilled onto his cheeks. It was days like this that Frodo's absence hurt the most. He would sit for hours at a time, staring into space and remembering…but unlike other days, the memories would hold no joy, only pain.  
  
Gulping, Sam fought against his emotions, but to no avail. He gave in at last, sitting down by the big oak tree in front of the hole and curling up, resting his head on his knees and sobbing quietly.  
  
"Oh, Frodo…I miss you so much," he whispered through his tears.  
  
As he cried, a gentle breeze picked up, lifting his hair from his tear- streaked face. Sam closed his eyes and leaned back, breathing deeply of the much-loved shire scent. As he shifted, a soft crinkle in his pocket caught his attention, and he pulled out the already worn parchment full of Frodo's last words to him. How often he'd read them, trying to draw the strength Frodo had tried so hard to pour into them. It did help, sometimes; not enough, usually, but it was something, at least. But now, as the unusually warm breeze continued to wind through the branches of the oak standing above him, a new feeling swept through him. Feeling compelled, he reopened the letter, wondering what he hoped to read that he didn't already know by heart.  
  
The impulse, however, was too strong to ignore, so he brushed his eyes clear of tears and gazed at the scrawling letters.  
  
*My dearest Sam,  
  
How hard it is for me to write this, oh friend of friends, knowing that when you read it I will be gone. How can I hope to make you understand? How can I possibly give you the strength you will need? Perhaps it is something to know that I shall miss you greatly as well. As hard as it may be for a time, Sam, you never need fear being forgotten. My heart will hold you dear for all eternity. Know that, if nothing else.  
  
Oh, Sam, how can I possibly put into words all my heart is crying to me right now? To say you're my best friend seems shallow at best. Gratitude doesn't come close to saying what I feel for all you've done for me. Sorrow can't scratch the surface of the pain I now feel, knowing I must leave you behind. And to say I love you…  
  
*Love is not strong enough a word to describe what you feel for the other half of your soul.*  
  
There aren't enough words in all the languages of Middle Earth to tell you what I feel. Know that I would try, if I thought it might come close to describing my feelings for you. But the best I can do is hope you already know. Look inside your heart, and anything you feel for me will be mirrored tenfold for you in my own.  
  
Sam, please try not to be too sad. I understand that I ask more of you now that I ever have before, but I want you to try to be happy. It would break my heart, Sam, if I thought you couldn't go on without me. But I know you can. You've always been the strong one, and this trial is no exception. Time may not completely heal the wounds you've suffered, but I promise you this, Sam: you will not always feel torn in two. Because I will always be with you. I promise.  
  
To say farewell seems too final, dearest of friends, so I will not say it. My heart whispers to me that we shall meet again someday, and I find I cannot ignore its soft persistent voice. One way or another, I will see you again. Until that day, you will always be a part of me.  
  
Never forget that I love you, dearest Sam, with all my heart and soul. And never forget to laugh, for that above all else can heal the deepest of wounds. You showed me that countless times during our journey, and I feel I must try to pass some of your wisdom back to you. Live your life, Sam, and enjoy it, for if anyone has ever deserved happiness it's you. And don't worry about me; my memories will be enough to tide me over until we meet again.  
  
Goodbye only for a moment, my sweet and faithful friend.  
  
Frodo Baggins*  
  
As Sam read, an unfamiliar feeling suddenly took root and began to grow deep in his shattered heart. Like the spreading roots of the great oak he sat beneath, the feeling picked up the pieces and bound them together tightly, stronger than before. For the first time, he knew what Frodo had been trying to tell him. The words were full of new meaning, and he pondered this as he gazed out across the sleeping landscape.  
  
*Live life, and enjoy it,* Frodo had told him. *…until we meet again…*  
  
Suddenly, without knowing quite why, Sam smiled. Memories, happy memories, flooded him with sudden warmth. A faint sound of laughter drifted up on the breeze, and Sam didn't know if it was the hobbit-lads he'd seen earlier or merely a snatch of memory lingering in the sweet-scented air. And suddenly, he knew it didn't matter. The sound was joy. There was joy to be found in memories, and joy here in the present as well.  
  
*Never forget to laugh…*  
  
And laugh he did, as he sat beneath the tree. Chuckling at first, then deeper as the new strength flooded his soul. As he laughed, the clouds broke apart and for the first time in several days sunlight flooded the shire. Sam stood and walked out, basking in it's warmth, his arms spread wide as though he could embrace the warm glowing orb that shone down upon him. The letter held in his hand fluttered gently in the breeze, and he smiled, drawing it to his face and kissing it lightly.  
  
"Oh, Frodo, I do understand, now," he said. With that, he tucked it back into his pocket. He would keep it safe for many years, tucked away in the red book, but he knew at that moment that he would not need to read it again. His heart finally understood what Frodo had been telling him, and that understanding was more than enough to get him through the years without him.  
  
*Yes, I'll be okay, Frodo,* Sam thought with a smile. *For I finally hear what my own heart has been trying to tell me. We *will* meet again, I'm sure of it now. Until that day, I know you will be with me. And until that day, I suppose I have work enough to do around here…*  
  
He smiled again and turned to walk back into the smial. But before he'd taken two steps, he paused and turned around, a small shiver running down his spine. For it seemed that in that moment, something in the breeze had smiled back at him…  
  
End  
  
  
  
*But in dreams  
  
I can hear your name  
  
And in dreams  
  
We shall meet again.*  
  
~LOTR "In Dreams" 


End file.
